The Mirror's Shards
by CarolNJoy
Summary: A collection of each character's reactions to when the Beast released Belle from her promise.
1. Beast

**_A/N:_** _After four years of desperately wanting to, I finally saw the stage production of_ Beauty and the Beast. _It was SO beautiful, and I was very much inspired from watching it come alive before my eyes!_

 _So when I wrote this, and when I write for the other characters (Cogsworth, Lumière, Mrs. Potts, and Belle, in that order), in my mind, I had the servants being humanoid objects slowly becoming more object-like (stiffer, colder, etc.), like in the stage musical._

 _I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 _Beast_

The trio of servants stared in shock and awe at their master's words. He could barely look at them for shame.

"Y—You _what?_ " Cogsworth stammered softly.

"How could you _do_ that?" Lumière blurted, horrorstruck. The Beast shut his eyes at the betrayal he detected in the maître d's tone.

"I had to," he breathed almost pleadingly. It was difficult enough he had felt caught between two unbearable choices, but there had been only one that had truly been the right one, that he _knew_ was right in his heart. It was the hardest decision he had ever had to make, the repercussion being… none of them would ever be human again.

"But… _why?"_ Cogsworth questioned. The Beast could tell the clock was trying to grasp for the logic behind his actions, to understand, and failing.

 _She missed her father,_ he wanted to say, but couldn't gather his own voice. _I wanted to reassure her and help, but…_ How was he to have known her father was lost in the woods, _and_ ill? _It was all my fault to begin with. I wanted to make it right. I_ wanted _to do the right thing for once. Just once. Especially for her._

Mrs. Potts was the only one who had remained silent. If she thought he had made the wrong decision, that he had unnecessarily doomed them to a fate none of them no longer deserved… then he would feel worse than wretched.

Gathering up all of the courage he could muster, he looked to the teapot. At the maternal expression he had come to depend on, he found himself finally able to breathe.

She smiled lovingly at him, her eyes shining. "After all this time," she admired with pride, "he's finally learned to love."

"Then that is it then!" Lumière entreated eagerly, grasping at straws. "That should break the spell!"

Mrs. Potts regretfully shook her head, officially snuffing out anyone's last hope with her words. "It's not enough. She has to love him in return."

The candelabrum faltered. The Beast could see his mind racing to explain, to contradict what was obviously their last chance at deliverance, but he was speechless.

"And now it's too late," Cogsworth concluded with a finality that made everything seem the more real.

This was the end. They would all be inanimate objects by midnight, and he… Would he become a true beast? Would all of the humanity be stripped of him too, and he would be just this… animal?

He gripped the edges of the bench, his claws digging into the stone as he listened to the servants' footsteps clink and clank from the balcony back into the castle.

He couldn't imagine what would be worse: living with the fact that his servants—who in better or worse had stayed loyal to him, who had been as close to a family as he could remember—would be frozen in their forms, and that he would be aware of all his losses; or forgetting about everything that made him a man, forgetting about Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, Lumière, Chip, forgetting about Belle… for good, and potentially becoming the raging monster that fit his exterior.

Would the servants be aware while they're immobile? Would their souls be imprisoned, unable to move on? Were they even free to die as he was? Was their fate to watch dust collect and rust accumulate for years, for centuries?

The Beast pulled at his mane, his nails tearing at his skull. _I don't know… I just don't know!_

Regret welled in his chest. Why hadn't he thought of this before he had let Belle go? He should have tried harder for _them_. He had an entire _household_ he could have freed, and now she was gone. She was _GONE._

Snatching at the bannister tightly beneath his paws, the animal in him howled in pain. Birds flew from their perches in the trees and scattered away from the noise. He could hear the echo of his roar extend to the farthest reaches of the forest. And yet he was sure no one could hear him…

Except maybe Belle. She was probably still galloping on her horse to find her father, but she wasn't going to return. Her father came first. Why would she choose the beast who incarcerated _both_ of them over her own flesh and blood? Even her father was _ill_ because of him. The Beast could understand her choice. He could.

And he had made his.

 _Belle._

He couldn't hope for her to come back, especially not knowing what he would be after midnight. He would never want her to see him become this creature, unthinking, unfeeling, unable to recognize her as a friend, as the girl he loved. With his humanity gone for good, he could hurt her, as easily as the wolves, and there would be no one able to rescue her from harm.

 _No. She can't ever return._

But why would she? Surely this place harbored bad memories, memories she would never want to relive. He had kept her there _against her will._ She deserved a choice, she deserved _freedom._

And that was exactly what he had given her. More than anyone, Belle deserved a life that she was free to make on her own. She was smart, kind, witty, generous, understanding, passionate—She was beautiful in every possible way. She deserved everything she wished for.

He had wanted to be the one that provided everything for her, the one that made her wishes come true. But without the curse broken, he was limited. He could only provide what he already had. And in his mind, that wasn't enough. It couldn't ever be enough.

The curse wouldn't have broken if he hadn't let her go. He was sure she only loved him as a friend. What could the mere hours left have done to change her feelings? He couldn't believe he had almost fooled himself otherwise.

Having returned to the West Wing, the last petal of the enchanted rose dangled feebly from its stem. Outside, rain began to shower, but it was steadily growing heavier. He hoped Belle had found her father and made it home in time, that she was safe and warm.

He stared morosely at the rose, its glow having dulled dramatically. Now all that was left was the waiting. The waiting for the end, however that would be.

The Beast released a slow breath, wishing it could be his last. _Let it be done…_


	2. Cogsworth

_Cogsworth_

The servants shuffled into the ballroom from the balcony. The majordomo could sense that at least Lumière was still in as much shock as he was.

Staring at the polished marble floor, his mind, having been wiped blank from the Master's revelation, felt a particular inquiry float into it.

 _What now?_

It was a fairly simple question, one that he had never _not_ been able to answer. Surely, there was always something that could be done, something that could be fixed or adjusted, tweaked or refined. That was his job, in fact, to always have a reply stocked if anyone under his command who was ever at a loss were to ask him, "What do we do now? What can be done?"

But Cogsworth… didn't know.

He stopped in his tracks, feeling the cogs and gears in his chest crank more rapidly. Suddenly, he was finding it hard to breathe.

"Cogsworth."

The clock jumped at his name, and he found both Lumière and Mrs. Potts eyeing him with deep concern. The fear and utter feeling of uselessness must have been apparent on his face, for they reached out to his shoulders in an attempt at comfort; Lumière with an unlit sconce, and Mrs. Potts with the curled end of her handle.

As they glanced at each other in turn, they brought one another into a three-person hug. After a moment in their embrace, with his brass arms around who he just now realized were his two dearest friends, Cogsworth finally felt he was able to breathe a little.

"It…" He swallowed the lump in his throat before he managed to make eye contact with them. "It has been a pleasure… working alongside you both. Truly."

At seeing him be so heartfelt, both the maître d' and housekeeper grinned, their eyes starting to shine.

"Likewise, _mon ami_ ," Lumière returned sincerely, giving Cogsworth a brotherly pat on the back.

Mrs. Potts leaned in to kiss the majordomo's cheek. "And you as well, love."

Cogsworth was struggling for words. He had never been one to voice any strong sentiments regarding how much he cared for others, mostly in part due to his upbringing. He liked to keep relations professional and free of any possible favoritism. Preventing feelings of attachment from interfering with his work made his life on the whole much easier, and simply made more sense to him.

However, he had such strong feelings of gratitude and appreciation for them that he felt he had no other choice. He _had_ to properly express them before it was all over in a mere four hours and fourteen minutes. It was only the right thing to do.

But he couldn't even arrange his feelings into coherent sentences.

After some silence between them, the teapot released a breath she seemed to have been holding. "Well, I'm going to go find Chip… and give him the longest hug I've ever given anyone." Doing remarkably well at appearing strong, she braved a smile, which the men returned, and she gave them a parting nod before she took her leave.

As they listened to her footsteps tinkle on the marble until they could no longer be heard, Cogsworth could only feel regret pulse inside him. Because together they had followed the Master's mother across the channel from England when the queen had married, the housekeeper probably knew him better than anyone else in this castle. She had always been the best one—sometimes the _only_ one—to soothe him and help him think rationally again whenever he would turn frantic. If anyone deserved his gratitude, it was her.

If he could get himself together, he had to make sure he expressed all of his thanks to her.

As Cogsworth's thoughts raced, Lumière glanced at the gilded sconces that were once his hands before he sighed away his hesitation. "Cogsworth?"

Having to abort his own attempts at forming exceptional goodbyes, Cogsworth gave the maître d' his attention. "Yes, Lumière?"

As Cogsworth observed him, he found himself amazed. The man he had known to always be so sure of himself, occasionally to the point of cockiness, appeared to be the picture of humility, a picture the majordomo never dreamed he would see, as much as he had wished to when he would chastise the maître d' for his irresponsible actions.

Lumière had to clear his throat, visibly nervous, though he pushed through his words. "I feel… that now might be the only time to say… for all of the… _bickering_ between us, and for all the trouble I caused, especially at your expense…" He gave a meek shrug and a small and wry, but honest smile. "I am truly sorry."

Cogsworth certainly expected to be surprised at an apology coming from Lumière, but like a knee jerk reaction, the clock unwittingly released a chuckle. "Figures."

The candelabrum furrowed his brow, naturally a bit miffed. "What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing," Cogsworth dismissed, sweeping his tiny grin away like it had never been.

Lumière crossed his arms as he glared. " _Talk,_ clock," he ordered.

"It's nothing, really," he assured, becoming mortified. " _Good_ ness _,_ I don't even know how I could have laughed just now!" Cogsworth gripped his forehead, astonished at the entire scenario. "I appreciate the apology, Lumière, beyond words, I promise you. And… I should... do the same," he admitted.

Lumière raised an expectant eyebrow at him, clearly in agreement. In Cogsworth's eyes, he looked as pretentious as when he had first been hired two decades ago.

They really hadn't liked each other in those days. Cogsworth had seen worth in his work ethic and leadership in the kitchens, but outside of that, the majordomo had thought there had been hardly any merit to Lumière's character. He had been everything he hated: smug, philandering, and disrespectful to _him_ in particular. Because of this, Cogsworth hadn't been willing to trust him as far as he could have thrown him, and had never bothered to look any deeper than the surface.

But after the Master's parents, the king and queen of Bourgogne— _May they rest in peace_ , he annexed _—_ had passed away, coincidentally at the same time as when Mrs. Potts had been nursing her newborn son, Lumière had been the pillar Cogsworth had leaned on when the young and angry prince had been too much for the majordomo to handle alone.

Now, after all they had been through, Cogsworth could tell that despite the arrogant air about him, at the moment, Lumière only believed he deserved an apology, and Cogsworth couldn't fault him for it either. _Now we know each other_ too _well_ , the clock silently groaned.

"As much as I…" He cringed in emphasis. "… _hate_ admitting it… I am not always right. I am as much at fault for… the majority of our squabbles as you. And for that, I apologize."

Cogsworth offered his hand, and the maître d's expression relaxed as he returned the offer. He clasped Lumière's wrist and gave it a firm shake.

A hint of a smirk could be seen on Lumière's mouth, and he had to concede, "All right, I can see why you laughed."

Cogsworth smiled in relief. "Oh good! I thought I might be going mad for laughing at all in these circumstances."

"It seems only in these circumstances do we feel the need to actually swallow our prides," Lumière observed.

The realization of that truth was, in reality, quite saddening. Cogsworth couldn't help but feel foolish at his own ridiculous ego, and he could tell Lumière felt the same.

His appreciation finally crystallized into something he could speak. The clock straightened, his hands at his back. "Lumière."

At the seriousness of Cogsworth's tone, Lumière found his eyes and waited for the majordomo to say what he would.

"I…" Cogsworth cleared his throat. "I know that I'm capable in many respects, but… I have my weaknesses; I am not very idealistic, nor hope for the improbable." He could feel the emotion rising up in him from his words, but he was only just able to maintain the professionalism characteristic of him, and plowed on. "If it hadn't been for you… the last of my humanity would have left me long ago. Although it… only prolonged the inevitable… I must thank you, for everything."

The truth of it all rang in his ears, and he was so absorbed in what he had just said that he was very taken aback at the sudden hug he found himself in. Cogsworth never cared for embraces like this to begin with, and Lumière certainly knew that, but… _If ever there was a time to make_ _an exception, this was the one._

The clock's arms had been stiffly at his sides, but he slowly returned the hug, and patted the maître d' on the back to signal that that was all he could handle.

When he withdrew, Lumière gripped what he could of Cogsworth's shoulders, a shining smile on his face. "I will treasure those words, _mon ami_ , for as long as I am able." With meaning, he convinced, "And you should know, this entire household is in your debt. If you had not kept us working, as though nothing had changed, none of us would be here to the end."

Mirroring his smile, Cogsworth could only give him a nod. Even though he could no longer shed tears, he still felt the pressure behind his eyes as though it were still possible.

Lumière clapped his feet together and stood at attention. "Is there anything you request of me before I take my leave?" he inquired reverently.

The majordomo was about to decline, but an idea occurred to him. "Now that you ask… Would you gather the remaining servants together in the usual drawing room, one last time?"

"It will be my honor, _mon capitaine_ ," Lumière saluted before dutifully going out to carry out his command.

Having one final task to complete put Cogsworth ever slightly more at ease. Of all the times to keep busy, he certainly felt this was of the opportune.

He hoped the task itself did not end up backfiring. If they were all going to go at once, after the years of serving together before and during the curse, then he as the head of the household thought it only best that they went together into the unknown, peacefully. Hopefully, this way would be easier and less painful than hiding in his study alone and listening to himself tick the time away to the very end.

A massive roar rattled his wooden frame. He could even hear the chandelier shudder above him. Glancing back to the crouched beast on the balcony, Cogsworth felt a stab of empathetic pain, the helplessness he had underwent floating back up to the surface.

 _The poor Master_ …

They had all worked tirelessly for _weeks_ , with the dinners, and the library, and the walks in the snow, and then the _dancing…_ All to end up with nothing.

Hadn't the girl seen what she had done? That she had brought hope and life to a household that thought those were long out of their reach? That the Master had changed—had _grown_ —before their very eyes, because of _her?_

Cogsworth shook the thoughts away as he stepped out of the ballroom. That was all behind them now, for good.

Regaining some momentum with effort, he headed for the servants' drawing room, being sure to plant his remaining purpose in every painstakingly stiff stride.

 _One last time, old man… Make it count._


	3. Lumière

_Lumière_

" _I let her go."_

The Master's words still rang in his ears. The devastation that they had caused wracked the walls of his mind.

He had to? Why? The atmosphere had been _perfect_ , the moment _beyond_ ideal, and yet he had let her leave—practically waltz out the door—without a single confession of love.

He knew the Master had felt it. Lumière had heard the sincerity in his intentions from his very lips. The prince _adored_ Belle. He looked at her as though the sun rose and fell at her command.

How had _nothing_ been spoken about how they felt? _Nothing._ Not even Belle had brought the subject up! If there had been _anything_ to be said about their dance that night, it was that the girl _did_ love the prince. There could be no other explanation for the way they had been caught in each other's gazes, how their steps had been in sync—And when she had laid her head on his chest? The curse's end had been so near, the candelabrum could have almost reached out and grabbed it with human hands.

 _We were so close…_

As Cogsworth had praised, Lumière might have been an optimistic beacon of hope to his fellow staff, especially when Belle's father had stumbled upon their doorstep, but now it was all over. There was no more use in pretending. Even if Belle was to return, it would be too late. He had to make his last moments count.

A familiar shuffle of feathers swiftly approaching him breached his ears.

Lumière immediately looked up at the woman who had the uncanny instinct to find him as soon as he thought of her, but he just as quickly froze in his place.

Beautiful hope still lingered in her expression, which could only mean she didn't know Belle was leaving.

Lumière wasn't in the least bit prepared to break this news to his paramour. That was like asking him to be the harbinger of death. He needed at least a little more time to get his thoughts organized, to word it in a way that would ease the misery of their reality to her as gently as possible. How was he to say that the Master had forfeited their last chance? _How?_

He couldn't tell her this way. He couldn't break her heart.

As he let himself smile at the sight of her excitement, Babette hurried up to him, breathless. "Oh _Dieu_ , Lumière, I have been anticipating it for hours! Go on, tell me how it went!"

His first instinct was to play dumb. "How what went?" he asked, putting on his best and most agonizing act yet.

She rolled her eyes, believing he was joking. "Now is not the time for cruel suspense. How was their dinner? How did it go?" she pressed eagerly.

His thoughts racing, after a brief moment, he offered with a small grin, "She asked him to dance."

Babette took pause, her smile faltering. Lumière began to curse his hesitation.

"That is wonderful!" she replied sincerely, but was scrutinizing him all the while. "I would think you would be overjoyed."

 _She sees right through me_ , the maître d' realized with dread. It was ridiculous to have thought he could get through this conversation without her suspecting anything. Besides, he had not the energy to sustain a lie of this weight.

Letting his act fade, he truthfully told, "I was."

Her face full of concern, she drew closer to him. " _Chéri,_ what happened?"

He could hardly speak, and he didn't want to. Once it was said, it couldn't be undone.

He welcomingly pulled her into his embrace, allowing himself to become absorbed in every detail of her face. Her feather duster form had caused her skin to slowly become wooden, as his had made his skin become of wax. But she was still as fair-complexioned as he remembered. Even her cute, button nose and her long-lashed, light blue eyes hadn't been affected by the curse.

At how he appeared to be trying to commit her countenance to memory, Babette was becoming unnerved. "Lumière," she addressed sternly.

She watched him come back to the present, and he glanced away briefly as he smiled. "You will not believe what Cogsworth and I said to each other several minutes ago." He saw her brow furrow in annoyance, confusion, or both, but he kept talking. "Can you imagine _both_ of us setting our prides aside to apologize? We even _thanked_ each other."

Alarm started to dawn in Babette's eyes as she analyzed the meaning behind his words. Lumière continued to equivocate in a softer tone, "He said I had helped him maintain his humanity for all this time."

She blinked the rising terror away and shook her head, adamant that her fears must be unfounded. "You are trying to stall," she noted with a hint of impatience.

He had to smile at that. "You know me all too well, _chérie_."

"Oui, and the amount of good it does me," she retorted bitterly.

Gratefully receiving the opening to banter, he smirked, arguing, "You knew what you were getting into."

"Is it too late for me to regret it?" she quipped with a wry grin. She couldn't resist falling into their usual repartee either.

"What is there to regret? I adore you, and you adore me."

Acting aloof, she replied bluntly, "It seems you do not know me half as well as you think, monsieur."

Completely enamored, he tightened his grip on her. "Is that a challenge?"

She looked up at him teasingly through her eyelashes. "Only _you_ would see it that way."

Wearing the confident smirk he was known for, he stated, "Because I know it is a challenge I can win."

She slid her arms around his neck and purred, "I certainly would love to see you try."

Taking this as a clear invitation, his lips met hers, and he kissed her slowly and deeply.

Though their embrace was as ardent as any before, the inner rush of passion that quickly followed them had dulled greatly during the curse. Year by year, it had gradually taken away the sweet sensations of the skin as they had become more like the objects they portrayed. He could not even properly caress her curves in all of their glory. He couldn't love her in the way she deserved.

They had come to terms with these losses, and had agreed not to voice it to each other. Still, the fact agonized them both.

But the reminder of that tragedy had Lumière thinking again that none of it would ever be regained.

He gently pulled away, and Babette smirked at him, lightly chastening, "All right, _mon amour_ , enough stalling."

"Ah-ah! You have yet to admit your defeat," he corrected fairly. She could never cease to make him smile no matter how pained he was.

She sneered at the suggestion, but found herself giggling. "'Defeat?' You did exactly what I wanted you to do!"

"Which could only mean what, _ma chère petite plumette?"_ he teasingly prompted.

A glowing smile crossed her scarlet mouth at the affectionate nickname. Her expression was one of a woman who saw everything he was, from his charms to his faults, and despite it all…

" _Je t'aime_ ," she murmured like a secret, and gave him a chaste but loving kiss on his lips.

 _Even if I were to live a thousand lifetimes,_ he thought with reassuring certainty, _I would never be so lucky again._

" _Et je t'adore,_ _ma belle fille,"_ he whispered. "With all my heart."

Stealing another kiss, long and hard, he silently pleaded that this moment would carry on for good, that if the curse had to end, let it be now while Babette remained blissfully unaware of a truth that would shatter her world.

She could sense his earnestness, and caressed his cheek with a feathery hand before pulling away. " _Cher,_ as much as I enjoy the distraction," she tenderly reminded, "you still have not answered my question."

Lumière pressed his lips into a firm line, as though that could successfully withhold the devastating words from escaping him.

At this reaction, Babette's brow creased with worry. "How bad was it? What could have happened after they had danced?"

He shut his eyes, cursing his vain efforts, and tried to prepare for her response, which he knew would yank at his heartstrings.

He could barely look at her when he finally uttered, "Belle is leaving."

A few seconds of silence was her only reply, and he thought it was just as well to allow time for the truth to sink in, as it had with him. But then she tore herself from his arms and began to rush back down the corridor.

"Babette!" he entreated, baffled. That wasn't what he had expected at all! "Where are you going?"

She never halted as she called over her shoulder, "To talk to her!"

 _Oh no…_ he groaned, now wondering how he _hadn't_ predicted this response. As she turned a corner, he chased after her. " _Chérie,_ stop!"

Thankfully, she did not get very far. Because of her state, she ran as though her knees were tied together. He skirted the maid and stopped her in her tracks.

"Babette," he gasped from his exertions, "there is nothing you can do. The Master let her go!"

"But if she knew what would happen to us, to _him_ ," came her desperate, impassioned plea, "then it would stop her, I am sure of it!"

She attempted to move past him, but he held her back and reasoned, "Babette, we cannot make the girl love him out of obligation."

"Said who?" she snapped, a rage stirring from her obstacle. "Who can say who has not tried? Love is love, and that is all we need to break this _maudit_ spell!"

At her second attempt to rush past him, Lumière caught and bound her in his arms.

"Let me _go!_ " she furiously cried as she struggled against him.

It took all of his strength to keep her at bay, all the while tempering, "We cannot hold her accountable for our lives. You _know_ she does not deserve such a burden!"

Babette faltered in her fight. Though he could not see her face, her voice cracked enough for him to tell she was on the verge of tears. "So that is it then? We are just… _giving up?"_

He heaved a heavy sigh. "Even from the start… we never had a say in the matter."

Silence fell between them as his words sank in. With Babette gripping Lumière's arms as he hugged her from behind, her resistance faded.

It was true, after all. The enchantress had proclaimed conditions on the spell that kept the servants from interfering, yet they were cursed with the same fate as their prince. Lumière had spent too much time mulling over why _they_ —the meek, humble servants, who had to raise the prince from childhood, and yet could not properly discipline him because of their positions—were also cruelly punished. The only reason he could determine was that they had let the prince become a selfish, spoiled boy.

But he had always known, along with Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts, that there was good in him. The boy had been orphaned in one fell swoop; his temper tantrums had been expected! He had only been a boy! Even without the curse, he would have grown out of his rotten ways… right?

Then he heard the first sob shake Babette's body. To stifle those oncoming, she shifted in his arms to hide her face in his shoulder.

He felt her tremble, and he cradled her more tightly, leaning his cheek on the top of her head. His first instinct was to rub her back soothingly, or stroke her hair—some motion that would help calm her. He had never felt so handicapped and useless to ease the woman he wouldn't have survived without.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she angled her head towards his collar so she could be heard. "We do not deserve this," she breathed, and he felt his insides twist at her pain.

"I know," he murmured. "None of us do."

He had to get her mind off of this, somehow. The thought of spending the short hours they had left wallowing in their misery made Lumière feel sick to his stomach. They had to make the best of them.

And that reminded him: He had one last task to carry out, and he couldn't forget to do it. Perhaps now he didn't even have to do it alone.

"Babette."

She slowly lifted her head to look him in the eye, and the desolated expression she wore was the very one he had always striven to prevent. He only hoped this would help to ease her.

"Do you want to say goodbye to everyone?" he offered.

Babette hesitated as she processed his question and took the place of her hopeless reflections, but he soon saw the affirmation in her eyes before she nodded with determination.

" _Très bien_ ," he replied with a small grin before he pressed his lips to her forehead and began loosening his hold. "Let's bring everyone to the grand drawing room."

Adorable confusion that Lumière made sure to take the tiniest bit of pleasure in graced her beautiful face. "The drawing room?" she repeated.

He smiled, shrugging. "Cogsworth's orders."

She seemed to agree with the idea as she managed to return his smile.

Taking a step back, he offered his arm like a gentleman. "Mademoiselle?"

She gladly slipped her hand into it, clasping the crook of his elbow. As they began their way down the hall, she regarded him with gaze that still had a fire behind it. "Only so you are aware, I do not plan on leaving your side."

"What a coincidence," he noted with a sidelong smirk. "I did not plan on letting you."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _In case you were wondering about the length, I combined two characters' perspectives in one, since Lumière can clearly read Babette's thoughts in her expressions. I also hope their banter felt natural in these circumstances. I always imagined that though it's part of their characters, it was one way they distracted themselves from their reality. I thought it fit that Lumière would use it to protect Babette from the painful truth for as long as he could._


	4. Mrs Potts

_Mrs. Potts_

On her way to her quarters, she found herself lost in a reverie.

It seemed true that the enchantment wasn't going to end. If it was, it would have been lifted already. And while that was heartbreaking, Mrs. Potts could also gather that everyone, most especially the prince, had grown immensely from it.

When the prince was born, his parents had asked her to be his nanny, as much as she could be with her other responsibilities as housekeeper. His mother trusted her like nobody else on their staff, since Mrs. Potts had even watched her grow from a young princess. She had only been Miss Simmons at the time, before she had met the majordomo of their estate, who had soon become her husband.

 _God bless him_ , she prayed, hoping he rested well in the afterlife.

While the king and queen had conducted with fellow royals, aristocrats, and politicians, she had been there as much as she could to nurse the prince, comfort him, and play with him. She could tell his parents had wanted to be there to take care of him so badly, and when they had no business to attend to, they were, and quite devotedly.

Adam was a darling thing as a young boy. He had always been a bit reserved, but he had known what he liked, and had never been afraid to say so. He had made her laugh with how strong his opinions were about how dessert should have more than one course and how boring conversations should be done while playing games or not at all. And he had given his reasons, too.

Then tragedy had struck, and he had suddenly become an orphan.

It was the housekeeper's biggest regret that the prince had turned into a recluse when his parents had passed on; she hadn't been there half as much as she should have been to support him. With her helpless, newborn son to nurse, Cogsworth and Lumière had been expected to ease the boy back into the day. Finally, the young Master had come out of his seclusion in the West Wing, but he had changed drastically. His first words to her had been harsh and accusatory, but his eyes had held a deep-seated hurt and betrayal.

She released a slow sigh. _I never forgot…_

But what happened this night, how he had let Belle go… The boy prince was now a man, a man who understood self-sacrifice. Whatever his reasons, they must be completely justified. She had no doubt.

Because of this, she could feel at peace with his decision. At least for herself.

But her boy. Little Chip. He had only been four-years-old when the spell had been cast, and like the rest, he did not seem to have aged a day by his looks. For ten years, by some miracle, Chip still had the same mindset; one full of hope, imagination, and curiosity. It was as if his growth had been frozen in time.

She had been sure to cherish this, because she knew all too well the pain of watching little ones grow up to greet the cruel realities of life, cruelties that Chip managed to have evaded. Though the curse was a cruelty in itself, Chip still was undeterred. He still ran around the castle's corridors, chasing the ottoman that was once Charlemagne the dog, laughing so freely, even the servants in the deepest depression couldn't help but crack a smile as the boy ran by.

Chip had been her saving grace. He was the reason she not only had held on to her humanity, but why she had always managed to find hope in their situation. Her boy had kept it alive by never changing and never growing up.

Could she even tell him…?

 _No,_ she immediately thought with certainty. _I couldn't possibly risk breaking his spirit… I couldn't bear it._

Eager to see him, Mrs. Potts finally turned into the hallway her rooms were to find Chip juggling a ball between his feet and kicking it against a bare spot on the wall.

Like the rest of them, Chip had stayed true to his size when the spell had been cast. His body was entirely of porcelain, and his head was in the shape of a round teacup, the brim mimicking his hair line. An arm had melded into a handle recently, a little after her own had, but his other arm was free to use. He even had his fingers still.

"Christopher!" she called.

Believing he was in trouble for not being in bed _and_ playing with his ball, Chip froze in mid-kick. He starkly resembled a deer at the sound of hunter's approach.

"I couldn't sleep," he began to explain, his big, blue eyes bringing a smile to her face. "I'm too excited!"

"Excited about what, dear?" she asked as she made her way over to him.

"About Belle and the Master!" The anticipation bubbling in him showed. "Something's gonna happen, I can feel it!"

"You must know something I don't, then," his mother observed, letting herself become absorbed in his excitement. "What do you think is going to happen?"

"The Master has to fall in love with Belle to break the spell, right?" he checked like a tutor would ask a trick question.

"And Belle has to love him in return," she reminded kindly. If she weren't so stiff, she would kneel to be at his level. She couldn't even pick him up and hold him close as much as she longed and wished to.

Chip beamed up at her, his chipped baby tooth from before the curse for which he was nicknamed on full display. "Right! Well…" he lowered his voice as though telling a great secret. "I think… we're gonna be human again _tonight_."

Mrs. Potts took a deep breath at this and did her best to hide the agony she felt. There was no way she could tell him what she thought, no way she would dare take this away from him.

"Don't you think so, Mama?" he sought to confirm.

She managed to bear her smile, though it was little. "Of course, love." Getting back to being a mother, she straightened. "Well, I think that's enough excitement for one night, don't you?"

"But—But what if the spell breaks?" he insisted. "I don't wanna be _sleeping_!"

"Spell or no spell, it's past your bedtime, young man," she replied sternly, but softened. "Besides… I'm sure we will all wake up human, just like you say."

He considered this seriously. "Well… I kinda wanna be _awake_ when it all happens. It won't be as fun when I'm sleeping!"

But that was precisely what she was trying to avoid. She would rather him be sound asleep in his dreamland than alert to the horror that would strike at midnight.

"Possibly…" she mused for his sake.

He looked to her eagerly. "So I can stay up?"

"Hmm…" Pursing her lips in thought, but she then shook her head. "I'm afraid I cannot be persuaded, dear," Mrs. Potts gently put down. "Eight o' clock is eight o' clock."

Chip heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Okay…" he admitted in defeat.

"Come on then," she nudged with her handle. "I'll tuck you in."

As Chip shuffled through the doorway, she heard a rustling that she only knew to be of feathers. She turned right before she was enveloped in a hug. Seeing Lumière approach them, she returned the embrace the best she could to Babette.

"Are you all right, dearie?" she murmured with concern to her.

As the maid pulled away, she nodded as though tears would fall if she spoke.

With a glance to the maître d', who affirmed Babette knew with a sad nod, the teapot could clearly tell she was having difficulty confronting the truth of their fates.

Having noticed his mother hadn't followed, Chip came out into the hall again. His broad smile returned. "Hi, Lumière!"

The candelabrum was able to mirror his grin with ease. "Bonsoir, _mon fils!_ Breaking your curfew again, I see?" he teased.

"It's not _my_ fault I can't sleep!" Chip protested.

"Of course it's not, love," his mother soothed. "Go on and jump into bed. I'll be there in a minute."

Conceding to her wishes, Chip waved to the couple. "G'night!"

"Bonne nuit," they both imparted. Having recovered, Babette found the teacup's enthusiasm contagious.

After Chip had disappeared back into his room, and Mrs. Potts gently closed the door to a crack, Lumière and Babette turned to her wearing looks of empathy. "You have not told him, have you?" he whispered.

In some respects, that would make her feel guilty for keeping such a secret from her son, though that was clearly not their intention. However, she felt too justified in her decision to let anything persuade her.

She shook her head somberly. "I can't," she breathed, her throat tight.

It loosened the thick knot in her stomach by the tiniest margin when they both nodded in agreement.

"I would have done the same," Babette comforted softly.

At her words, a pained expression crossed Lumière's face as he turned his eyes to the floor, and Mrs. Potts realized that here were two more whose lives would never be lived to their full extent. Though they were not married, they might as well have been; neither had been ones to rush into things. Besides, they had thought they had time on their side. Yet circumstances had been most unforgiving to them, to Chip, to the Master, to the rest of the staff who had been so young and full of hope and possibility when the curse had struck.

Mrs. Potts briefly closed her eyes and sighed before she looked on the maid tenderly. "That helps put my mind at ease, dear. Thank you."

Babette smiled gratefully at her as Lumière informed quietly, "Cogsworth has called one last meeting in our drawing room. After you have tucked Chip in… will you be joining us?"

She instantly promised, "Of course! I think that's a wonderful idea. I'll be there as soon as I know Chip's asleep."

He seemed to relax at this reply. "Take all the time you need. We will not let it begin without you."

Though she felt gratified at this assurance, the emotion that suddenly overcame Mrs. Potts rendered her speechless. She pursed her lips and bobbed her head to show she understood.

After exchanging parting nods, Babette took Lumière's arm and continued their way down the corridor, but not until after the feather duster gripped what she could of Mrs. Potts' hand and gave it a squeeze.

The housekeeper made sure to compose herself properly before she cracked the door open.

"You still awake, child?" she murmured into dark, the dim light shining a sliver onto the end of the bed.

"Yep!" he alerted, and as she opened the door all the way, she saw him sitting up against the pillows.

She came over to lean against the bed, as she was too stiff to sit. "Did you get any sleepier in the meantime?"

"Mmmm…" he hummed in consideration, scrunching up his mouth before admitting, "A little."

Mrs. Potts chuckled. "A little's enough for me." She uncurled the end of her handle, as though her fingers had been glued together, to hook the sheets and cover Chip up.

As she tucked the sheets snugly under him, Chip asked aloud after a period of thought, "What can't you tell me?"

She froze at his question, thankful that it was too dark for him to make out her moment of shock, before she straightened. "What do you mean, dear?" she prompted with measure. "Were you listening at the door again?"

Chip gulped and bit his lip, his guilt obvious. "Maaayyybe…" he stalled.

She took a deep breath. She should have expected this from her ever curious son. That didn't make this any less of a trial of conscience in her case.

"I'll tell you in the morning," she whispered, those words causing a spike to be driven through her gut. _A morning that will never come._

He subtly groaned in disappointment, but apparently didn't see the use in arguing at this hour. "All right," he conceded with effort.

She withheld a sigh of relief. Once he snuggled himself more into his pillow and covers, she was able to bend enough with effort to place a long kiss on his forehead. "Good night, Chip."

"Night, Mama," he mumbled sleepily, his eyelids half-closed.

A sob threatened to burst from her mouth, but instead, she managed to say, "I love you."

"Love you, too," he mumbled, his eyes now shut.

For another minute, Mrs. Potts couldn't take her eyes off of his darling face, one that she had been blessed to bask in longer than any mother gets to before their children mature. She could hardly think that this was the very last time she would get to see him.

She wanted to part from this world holding him tight, but that would be selfish of her. Keeping him blissfully ignorant was more important. It was the only way she could be content with herself in regards to him. If he was at peace, than she could be, too.

Finally straightening, she felt what was left of her heart rip to pieces as she made her way to the door. She appraised him a final time, gripping the door, before she tore her gaze from her boy and closed him off from the grief that would ravage the castle's inhabitants, hoping with all her might that it was enough protection.

 _I will see you soon, dear heart…_

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I found this difficult to write not only because I had never directly written from Mrs. Potts' point-of-view, but I have never dug so deep into the mindset of a mother. From what I've observed, read, and heard, I imagine that it's a very fierce, protective form of love that can be overwhelming to those who experience it. I also am blessed to have a mom that's such a wonderful role model. Thankfully, I've been reassured that it's accurate, but I would love to know what you guys think!  
_


	5. Belle

_Belle_

"Go to him."

Distraught at the less than comforting image the enchanted mirror had shown her, Belle could hardly process anything else; the scene of her father hacking and collapsing onto the dark forest floor had faded with a greenish glimmer into the mirror's glass when the Beast had spoken.

With thoughts and heart racing, she gazed at him in surprise. "What?"

Though he had just been sitting proudly on the stone bench mere moments ago, his shoulders were now slumped, and his eyes were averted. He gripped the edge of the bench tightly as he repeated to the ground, "You should go to him."

Her first instinct was to protest. She had made a promise. "But what about—?"

"You're no longer my prisoner," he interrupted, standing abruptly, though he still clenched his fists. His brilliant blue eyes finally found hers, and she felt her heart palpitate. "You haven't been for a long time."

Belle halted, stunned as she realized, _I haven't_ felt _like a prisoner for a long time._

Quickly retrieving her mind from this revelation, she looked down at the magical mirror in her hands, a relic she wished she had the time to inquire about. There were so many things she wanted to ask him…

Her throat tight, she wordlessly stepped forward holding out the mirror to return it to him, but the Beast held up a hand.

"Take it with you," he insisted, and she found herself caught in his agonized stare. "So you will always have a way to look back… and remember me."

His heavy brow was furrowed and his eyes were piercing. It seemed he could see right through her, and she truly hoped that he could. Maybe then she would not have to attempt to put into words how she felt.

But to her disappointment, he looked away. She immediately brought a gentle hand to his cheek to turn those gorgeous eyes of his to her again, and emphasized with quiet warmth, "I could never forget you."

She watched a twinkle of hope spark in him as he held her hand to his cheek, grasping it tenderly with bated breath before he murmured, "Belle…"

Eagerly anticipating his words, she waited. "Yes?" she prompted.

But what he had intended to say retreated. He pressed his lips together, sealing whatever those words were from her for good. "Go," he softly urged, letting her hand fall from his grasp.

Her lips parted to say that she wasn't leaving forever, that she would see him again, but they caught in her throat. She didn't know when she would be back, or if she _could_ ever return.

Why couldn't he tell her what he was _really_ thinking _now_ while he had the chance? He had become so reserved around her recently, and she could barely stand it any longer.

As he began to turn away, she tried to call his attention again. "But—"

His eyes rendered her silent. " _Go,"_ he growled, but not unkindly, and to remind her who was at stake.

It frustrated her, but she couldn't deny that he was right. Hesitating only briefly, she spun on her toes with the mirror clutched in her hand and her skirts in the other before hurrying as fast as she could in her heeled shoes, the only picture in her mind the agony she had deciphered in his strangely human gaze.

Until the last moment, he had kept himself and his castle shrouded in mystery. Questions had constantly prodded her throughout her stay, but she had known better than to pry. She had learned quite brutally where that kind of curiosity led her.

It was a lesson worth learning though. She would often spend too much time concerning herself with the "hows" and "whys," daydreaming about how things were before and what they could be, when she should have been focused on the present. If he had taught her anything, it was the importance of living in the moment, of making the effort to open her eyes to a world beyond what she had thought she had known and wanted.

After he had rescued her from the wolves, she had not felt lonely half as often as in the town of Molyneaux. The irony that a beast and his staff of object-like servants had given her more hospitality in a couple months than an entire village ever had in over a decade was something she never would have been able to fathom before. She felt a peculiar sense of belonging in this castle, but she wouldn't let herself give into it. She couldn't take advantage of their kindness and generosity.

Besides, how could she call any place "home" where her father could never visit?

But the thought occurred to her that if she only had asked the Beast…

Belle sighed through her nose. _I can't even imagine him saying "no" to something like that anymore._

It was alarmingly vast, the difference between how the Beast had been and how he was now. He had been ruthless and vile… practically barbaric. Now he was sweet and endearing, full of understanding and compassion. She had come to look forward to seeing him every day. Was he really the same one who had imprisoned her father all those weeks ago?

Before she could fully return to her senses, she became aware that she had found her door by instinct. Apparently, she had spent enough time in these halls that they no longer confused her. This castle was huge, yet as the days had gone by, it seemed to have shrunk in size, to have even grown in magnificence. Did she now keep some sentimental value in the walls she once abhorred?

Without dwelling more on it, she turned the handle and swept into her room.

"Well, well, back already?" Madame Armoire exclaimed immediately upon her entrance, pulling Belle swiftly from her reverie.

"How did it go, dear?" the wardrobe entreated, visibly bursting with excitement. "Was dinner exquisite? Well, of course it was," she answered herself as an aside. "Why even ask! But did he ask you to dance? Please tell me it was as _fabulous_ as I imagine! Shower me with details!"

Belle closed the door without missing a beat. She had been expecting as much from the wardrobe, to be eager to gossip about her night.

"It was wonderful," Belle answered sincerely as she set the mirror on the bed and began unhooking her bodice. "And I wish I could tell you more, but… I have to go."

Mme. Armoire's grin drooped and worry lines creased her brow. She approached her with heavy wooden steps, her drawers trembling from the vibrations. "Go? What on earth do you mean? What happened?" Her eyes held fearful implications. "It wasn't anything _he_ —"

" _No_ , no, of course not," Belle assured without hesitation. "He was nothing but a gentleman." The gold satin gown fell to her feet and she took to her corset. Her fingers fumbled on the ties from her agitation. "It's my father. He's lost in the woods, and still fighting a cough. I have to find him and bring him home."

"Your father?" Mme. Armoire looked at the enchanted mirror on the bed. "I see…"

As her voice trailed off, Belle glanced over at her and saw the wardrobe's face had become clouded by a quiet shock. "Madame?" she checked with concern.

Her gaze switched from the mirror to her, the shock gone but in her eyes. "Yes, dear, let me help you with that." She reached for the corset's ties at Belle's back and efficiently loosened them in silence, which didn't help Belle's mind from wondering at the wardrobe's reaction.

As Belle took the beautiful gown from the floor and laid it on the bed, Mme. Armoire reached into her left side-hoop's compartment, like a pocket, pulled out her neatly folded blue frock and linen shirt and handed them to her.

"I expect you would like these back," she said morosely, "but could I… offer one of my gowns for you to take? Even two, if you can manage?"

"Your gowns?" Belle repeated, taken aback by the wardrobe's almost pleading expression. "No, madame, you have been too kind; I couldn't possibly..."

" _Yes_ ," Mme. Armoire insisted, reaching for the knobs at her chest. "You _could._ "

She found herself becoming more flustered at the thought, and stammered what she thought might be a plausible excuse. "Where I'm from, I—I'm hardly worthy to wear them, much less keep them."

The wardrobe halted in her search, leaving her doors partially open, and grasped Belle's hand. "Oh, my dear," she admired encouragingly, "I cannot imagine a _worthier_ woman donning my gowns. Besides, I… We must be remembered _some_ how."

Her eyes appeared to shine, but she attended to her rack of gowns to hide it from Belle.

Belle hastily slipped on the long linen shirt over her chemise before she halted the wardrobe with a hand on her arm. "Please, I can't let you. I—I'm sure I'll be back," she mustered, trying to convince herself as much as the wardrobe. "I will do my best, I promise. Right now, though, I have to hurry."

"Not even one?" She hastily pulled out the jade dress with rounded shoulders and long sleeves. "You _must_ take this one, if any at all!"

Belle had worn that dress when he had given her his library. That was the nicest and most generous gesture she had ever received.

Guilt stabbed her heart. How could she abandon him?

 _Papa_ , she fiercely reminded. _Papa needs me!_

"Madame," she addressed with sincerest passion, "you and Mrs. Potts and Lumière, Cogsworth— _everyone_ has been so kind and thoughtful, more so than I could ever repay. I would be… I couldn't allow to have you part with any of your gorgeous gowns. Thank you _very_ much for your offer, but I can't…" Belle felt a burning behind her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Mme. Armoire did not hesitate in shutting her doors to rub Belle's shoulders. "No no no, sweetheart, don't be sorry! You have every right to say 'no,' there isn't any obligation… I understand." With pursed lips, she unfolded Belle's frock and held it for her to slip into.

Belle took the few seconds of adjusting her frock to glance around the room for her cloak, composing herself all the while, before the wardrobe offered it to her as well.

"Thank you," Belle accepted as she swung the cloak around her shoulders.

"Oh no," Mme. Armoire corrected with a small smile. "Thank _you_ , Miss Belle. You've been quite the blessing to us all." Grasping her hand again, she ushered, "Now go find your father, and please, _please,_ my dear… Stay safe."

"I will," Belle thanked, smiling in return. "Thank you for everything."

Before she turned away and hurried from her room with mirror in hand, Belle realized what she had seen in Mme. Armoire's eyes was the same pain that had filled the Beast's.

If her departure was the cause of it... If her father's situation was not so dire, she would not be leaving so abruptly… or maybe—

Belle shook her head. _This isn't my home… It can't be, not without Papa._

She hoped not to come across any of the other servants, so she quickened her pace and began to run through the halls towards the stables.

The corridors were as silent as graves, her footsteps echoing along the carpeted floors. Shadows were more pronounced, no movement dared interrupt the quiet… They felt as eerie as they had when she had first walked them, perhaps even more so.

Belle felt she could breathe when she finally made it to the stables. Her roan steed, Philippe, was standing in his stall and looking eagerly to her, as though he had heard her approach from inside the castle.

"How are you doing, boy?" she asked him, opening his stall door before rubbing his nose in greeting, but was shocked to feel that he was already bridled.

"How did…?" she inquired aloud as she saw upon further inspection that Philippe was saddled as well.

"They… They must have known I had to leave," Belle whispered, and Philippe confirmed it with a nod.

At the emotions that arose, Belle could hardly move. She _had_ grown attached to this place, and everyone in it, but what made her take pause was that… Was this by _his_ wish? Was he doing the last of what he could to help her leave as swiftly as possible, despite how much she knew he didn't want her to leave… how much _she_ didn't want to leave?

She swallowed the lump in her throat and took the stallion's bridle. "Let's go, Philippe."

He dutifully followed her out of the stall before she climbed into the saddle, and they cantered out of the stables. After kicking his sides, his hooves soon hit stone, the clops accompanying the wind in her ears. The iron gate was wide open, and as they flew through it, a horrific roar closely pursued them. The tears Belle had been trying to fight finally breached the surface; the anguish in the Beast's howl couldn't be clearer.

After everything they had done for her, she knew it was terrible to leave without proper goodbyes. She had to make sure to amend that somehow, someday. Someday soon. Once Papa was safe and healthy…

Belle gripped the reins more tightly, and cradled the mirror to her chest. _I will return._ _I promise._

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _For some reason, I always felt Belle's feelings on her departure are hardly touched upon. We mainly focus on the Beast's reaction, and the servants', but from the movie's standpoint, Belle just seems so intently focused on her father when she leaves. I know that this story would not have played out as it did without her feeling some guilt and regret, despite the fact that at this moment, her father came first._

 _This series of one-shots was a very immersive exploration of a part in the movie and musical that I now wish was given more screen time. I wanted to make this situation and their emotions and thoughts seem tangible and real, and I hoped I accomplished that. I will never look at it the same way again._

 _Thank you all for reading! As always, criticisms are most welcome!_


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